


Netflix and Kill

by imaginarycircus



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, could make it shippy if you squint and unfocus your eyes, hockey bros for life, netflix queues are serious business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6636160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarycircus/pseuds/imaginarycircus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ransom messes with Holster's carefully ordered Netflix queue and all hell breaks loose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Netflix and Kill

**Author's Note:**

> [Doggerel originally posted on tumblr for a prompt from linkedlikedays.](https://imaginarycircus.tumblr.com/post/143283330539/linkedlikedays-replied-to-your-post-bad-idea)
> 
> Takes place fall of Bitty's sophomore year.

Oct 4: “I’m using your toothbrush,” Ransom called though a mouth full of toothpaste. Holster shrugged.

Nov 13: “All my underwear is rank. Borrowing yours, brah.” Ransom was buckling his belt, boxers presumably already deployed. No big. Holster’s mother always included some new ones in care packages. Everyone in the Haus had a pair.

Nov. 15: “Ransom!” No reply. Holster rage-slumped on the dubious green couch with his laptop. Like some things are just never okay to do to a friend. “JUSTIN OULARANSI, GET DOWN HERE!”

Ransom came thundering down the stairs. “Dude! What? Are you dying? Do you have a pain in your left arm–”

“What,” Holster said slowly, sounding a lot like Professor Snape, “have you done to my Netflix queue?”

“Uh…” Ransom sat down and looked at it. “I added some things?”

Holster slapped his laptop closed. “Everything was in a specific order. Carefully calibrated.”

“Does the order matter? Can’t you just–”

Holster tossed his laptop aside. “It’s like you don’t even know me. You put Steel Magnolias behind fucking Michael Bay’s Ninja Turtles. What were you thinking?!” He stormed out of the Haus. 

Bitty, Shitty, and Lardo were in the kitchen trying to look like they hadn’t heard a thing. Bitty was stirring an empty coffee cup and Shitty and Lardo looked like they wanted to run.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said. This wasn’t like test jitters, or feeling like something invisible is touching your butt.

“Apologize,” Lardo said.

“Apologize and get him a present,” said Shitty.

“Y’all are clueless.” Bitty opened the fridge and closed it. “We’re going to the Murder Stop & Shop. You’re gonna say it with food.”

“You’re going to make him–?” Ransom felt hopeful. Bitty’s pies could probably fix serious political rifts.

“Oh, sweetheart. No.” Bitty towed him out the front door. “You’re going to do it. I’ll supervise.”

 

Holster was still pissed when he got home. The sun was setting. He was chilled and starving. He’d left without a coat, or his wallet and had just walked. No idea what he was going to say to Ransom. Maybe he’d overreacted, but everyone has their limits.

The front hall was crowded and smelled like burning hair. Bitty, Shitty, and Lardo stood there, arms folded. They looked tired and grimy. Lardo grabbed Holster’s shirt and twisted it. “You’re going to go in the kitchen and eat dinner with him or so help me God…”

Bitty glared at him. GLARED. Shitty gave him a shove.

Holster went into the kitchen. The table was set for two. There were flowers. Candles. Ransom was wearing a sports coat and three band-aids on various fingers. Fucking A. You can’t be ripshit at your best friend when he’s cut himself trying to make you an apology dinner. He downgraded his mood to crabby, but unlikely to yell.

“Dude. Are you going to propose?” What Holster had intended to sound like detached sarcasm came out breathless and wistful.

“You wish. Sit your ass down. I have something to say.” Ransom tugged his tie and cleared his throat.

“WINE!” Bitty stage whispered from the hall.

“Oh. Right.” Ransom poured red wine into a a real wine glass, which, like where the hell had that come from?

Ransom took out some index cards and cleared his throat three more times. “Aristotle says that a friend is another self. Someone you’ve shared much salt with. Man. I don’t know. Like someone you’ve eaten a lot of meals with. Someone’s back you always have and who has yours.”

Ransom paused and Holster wasn’t prepared to let him off the hook so quickly. No one had ever gone to so much trouble over him before. He took a swig of wine. It wasn’t cheap ass wine. It was decent. He nodded in approval.

“We share everything and I didn’t think you’d care, but I should have. I know you’ve spent a lot of time putting all that shit in order. I’m really sorry.“

Holster nodded again, waiting to see where this was going.

“I made you dinner.” Ransom said. When Holster frowned, he added, “Bitty helped.”

Holster relaxed. Ransom served him boeuf bourguignon with slices of toasted country bread. He took a bite and like you couldn’t even be mad with that in your mouth. “Oh, holy shit balls. That’s good.”

He heard some frantic whispering from the hall. “Jeez. Will you idiots get in here and eat. I know you made enough for everyone.”

“Cool,“ Shitty said followed by a grunt of pain. Like someone about 5′1″ had elbowed him in the gut. “No. I mean. We’re cool.”

Holster rolled his eyes. ‘Get your asses in here.” He glanced at Ransom who hadn’t touched his food. He wasn’t blinking and there was a divot between his brows–like he had a test in the morning. “Rans, I forgive you.”

Ransom let out a heavy breath and reached his fist across the table. Holster fist bumped him back.

“All right. I can’t eat with you assholes breathing loudly in the hall. Get in here.”

They rushed in and served themselves. There was more wine, but it wasn’t as good. No one cared.


End file.
